


dulce bellum inexpertis

by tavrincallas



Category: Men's Football RPF
Genre: Barebacking, M/M, Period-Typical Homophobia, also possibly the filthiest fic i've ever written by my (tame) standards, another flop? possibly, this is the military/ww2 au no one asked for
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-05
Updated: 2019-01-05
Packaged: 2019-10-04 21:35:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,972
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17312264
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tavrincallas/pseuds/tavrincallas
Summary: The heavy rain continues to splatter on their helmets, their ponchos, and their rifles – and in this darkness, there is no one else Jordan could see but Adam.





	dulce bellum inexpertis

**Author's Note:**

> Title is Latin for "war may seem pleasant to those who have never been involved in it, though the experienced know better"

They huddle in their shared foxhole, cold, wet and shivering.

The heavy rain continues to splatter on their helmets, their ponchos, and their rifles – and in this darkness, there is no one else Jordan could see but Adam.  He’s sleeping soundly; holding on to his rifle while he mumbles in his sleep, despite the rain, and Jordan wonders how Adam does it.

Jordan continues to keep watch, keeping an eye and ear out for any movement beyond their line, but even in his wariness, he couldn’t stop replaying what has happened only hours earlier in his mind, long before the rain started, long before he is stuck in this muddy foxhole with the only foxhole partner he’s got left.

A sniper bullet had gone straight through Ingsy’s femoral artery when they had least expected it. They’d scrambled for cover. Three other men from their side were shot dead— before Adam, in his quiet rage, had picked up his rifle and started targeting his shots where the sniper fire came from; firing off round after round until the enemy side retreated and then was heard no more.

Adam never says much. There was a time when Jordan and Ingsy loved to tease him, long before this war started, long before shit got real and saw things that they thought they’d been too young to see. Jordan and Ingsy still teased him from time to time, if that was the only thing that would retain their sanity, their humanity – but above all, they loved seeing Adam react. In his faux fury, Adam would often punch them in retaliation, but it was all in good faith, ending with a slight upward curve to those perpetually grim lips and a twinkle in those sharp, large eyes. They were foxhole mates and there was little else to do between chow and staying alive, and jacking off to girlfriends they’d left back home.

If they’d had one to begin with.

No one else could tease Adam and get away with it like Jordan and Ingsy – other boots were too afraid of him, while the higher ranking officers and NCOs respected him. Even if he was just a Corporal; a quiet one at that. He doesn’t swear, doesn’t go off and combat jack in the bushes like Jordan and Ingsy usually do, and that’s why they tease him further – he’s a contradiction in this dirty, filthy war – _Adam is too pure,_ they’d said.

That doesn’t make him any less effective in combat.

Out of the three of them, Adam is probably the most heartless and brutal when it comes to guarding their lines and lynching their enemies without mercy, if it means that they get to live another day.

War is strange like that.

“If you haven’t accepted that you’re already dead from day one, you’ve already lost,” Adam has said once, as he sharpened a KABAR he’d nicked off a dead US Marine, if he ever said anything at all. That had shut Jordan and Ingsy’s mouths up for the rest of the day.

Jordan had been marking the days at the back of his Bible, making lines and crossing them off so that he would at least know the date of the month, if he knows little else. It’s been four years since this stupid bloody war started. Two years since he’s been stuck on this hellish paradise fighting a war he doesn’t believe in.  Four months since they’ve been on the offensive, in order to take over Central Burma, advancing down the Irrawaddy River. Milly told him that their main objective was Rangoon, but Jordan wasn’t sure if that’s the case anymore. His main objective was to kill, kill, kill – and he wondered if Adam and Ingsy felt the same, too.

He’s been with the Fourteenth Army the longest, out of the three of them. Ingsy joined much, much later, and most of Jordan’s affinity for him is probably because they’re about the only two people who had dared to share a foxhole with Adam. Both of them have often wondered when Adam will finally snap, will finally lose his temper, will finally lose his humanity. Adam was too cool a cucumber, but there were times when Jordan thought he could see the fire underneath, threatening to burn and engulf everything else in Adam’s wrath.

Jordan never thought that Ingsy’s death would be the one to do it.

Adam had screamed at the other boots’ incompetence for lighting up a fire which gave away their position to the enemies, leading up to the unsuspected attack which eventually cost them Ingsy’s life. Jordan had applied pressure on the wound but Ingsy just kept on bleeding, bleeding, _bleeding_ his life away, as he looked up to the skies and saying that he wanted to see his mum again. “Will I?” he had asked in tears, as Adam held his hand tight and said, “Yes, you will, Ingsy, don’t worry,” before drawing a sharp breath and screamed a strangled, “Medic! Where the hell are you? _Medic!_ ”

Jordan tried hard not to listen – and concentrated solely on pressing down on the bleeding artery with all his might, fearing that he would not be able to console his own mind, as Ingsy continually cried out for his mum, his dad and Adam shushed him. Ingsy’s cries turned into weak mumbles and quiet whispers of “Mum… _mum,_ ” and it took Jordan a lot of strength to look at Ingsy and tell him it will be alright. He couldn’t cry, not now – not as Ingsy’s blood was spilling all over his hands, threatening to cry out tears of blood on Jordan’s behalf.

By the time the medics arrived and tried to locate the bullet in Ingsy’s thigh, Jordan could see Ingsy’s life draining away from his pale face, his eyes cold, staring up at the stars. Adam had gone silent, before letting go of Ingsy’s limp hand with a cruel thud, and stood up briskly.

One, two, three seconds – before Adam snapped.

He’d thrown his helmet furiously on the ground in a deafening clank, hands and dungarees stained crimson with Ingsy’s blood. It had caused everyone else in the vicinity to take another step back, murmuring worriedly as they watched Adam leave.   _Let them talk,_ Jordan thought. _This was between Adz, Ingsy and me._ They had no right to gossip, but Jordan stood up from where Ingsy’s body once was, attempting to appease Adam – it wasn’t as if Adam was the only one mourning, _Ingsy was my friend too, goddamnit,_ he’d wanted to say. He’d only managed a tap on Adam’s shoulder before the smaller man spun around and uttered a deadly, “Leave me alone,” which sent shivers down Jordan’s spine.

He’d eventually tracked Adam down to their foxhole, carrying Adam’s helmet with him. He did a double take when he found the other man with a _Lucky Strike_ between his lips, puffing cigarette smoke into the humid air. His bloodied fingers were surprisingly steady, given what they’d just been through moments earlier.  “I thought you don’t smoke,” Jordan said as he slipped into the foxhole, right beside Adam.

“Fuck you, Hendo,” Adam replied, without even looking at him. “I thought I told you to leave me alone.” His words were calm, content, as if nothing had happened. It was irrational for Jordan to be angry, perhaps, but he couldn’t help himself. “What is wrong with you?”

“What the fuck is wrong with _you?_ ” Adam retorted, his eyes blazing. And it surprised Jordan, because this was the second time Adam had used swearwords in a span of less than thirty seconds, and all that rage was unfairly directed towards him.

For the next minute, they snarled at each other as the rest of the company stayed silent, thinking, _here we go, Jordan and Adam, bickering like a married old couple again_ – except the insults they threw at each other were more vicious, cutting deeper into the flesh, the bone, their _hearts._ Jordan couldn’t even remember what they were fighting about anymore, until Adam threw his half-lit cigarette, stomped it with the heel of his boot and physically went for Jordan.

Adam roughly pulled at Jordan’s collars and brought him down to the ground, grappling ungracefully as raindrops begin to fall, cool and wet against Jordan’s skin – washing away Ingsy’s blood from their hands. Washing away the pain, the guilt.

Washing away their sins.

As if any of that was going to stop Adam, who was persistent in his own uncontained rage, as the rain poured heavier and harder on them, as if punishing them for not being able to protect Ingsy. Jordan and Adam continued to wrestle against each other in the foxhole, now muddy from the earth and rain, until Adam managed to flip them over so that he straddled Jordan, pinning his arms and legs down with Adam’s weight, his dark eyes boring down into Jordan’s.

Adam’s face and hair were caked with mud – but Jordan concentrated hard just staring up into Adam’s eyes, as he stopped struggling underneath. Adam wasn’t crying, but it surprised Jordan that his own vision was blurry from tears and the rain. “I _surrender,_ ” Jordan whispered inaudibly, against the heavy rain and his own heartbeat roaring in his ears. He should have seen it coming when Adam leaned down to press his lips against Jordan’s.

He should have pushed Adam away. He should have felt surprised, disgusted. Instead, he stayed still, in full submission and acceptance, as Adam cupped his face and aligned their foreheads together, desperately trying to coax his chapped lips open. He didn’t move an inch – he _couldn’t_ – until Adam shoved a hand into Jordan’s slick hair and kissed him harder than Jordan had ever kissed other girls. “Adam,” Jordan hissed into Adam’s mouth, a warning, before he regretfully yanked his head back to break the kiss.

“Adam,” Jordan repeated dumbly, as Adam climbed off him and crawled away to grab a poncho. He threw one to Jordan before wearing his helmet, draped a poncho over himself, and said, “I’m going to catch some shut-eye. You take first watch. Wake me up at 0300.”

As expected of Corporal Adam Lallana, the master of laconic words and unreadable expressions. Jordan watched his eyelids flutter as he tried to sleep, and in the pitch black darkness, he could almost convince himself that there was that same slight upwards curve at the corners of Adam’s lips.

This happened two hours ago.

Jordan now taps impatiently at his watch, as the seconds go by until it hits 0300, and kicks Adam’s legs with his foot to wake him up. He licks his lips, still swollen from the kiss, and shudders. “Adam,” he calls out. “Wake up, sleepyhead.”

Adam opens his left eye first, squinting at Jordan as he adjusts his sight in the darkness. “Cheers, mate,” he mumbles, before straightening up and picks up his rifle where it lies beside Jordan. The slight movement causes Jordan to flinch, and he knows that he always flinches whenever Adam moves towards him – but _this_ , this is different.

He knows that Adam being Adam, he will never talk about the kiss again. It is just a way for him to cope, a slight moment of misjudgement, when he allows himself to let loose.  Adam pauses, the corner of his lips twitches, and for a second they are too close to each other that Jordan almost thinks that Adam will kiss him again.

But he doesn’t.

“Well, get some rest then,” Adam tips his head before moving opposite Jordan, and stares at the enemy lines intently. He doesn’t even spare Jordan another glance.

Jordan convinces himself that the gnawing feeling inside his stomach when he slumps against the wall of the foxhole _isn’t_ disappointment.

 

* * *

 

They move out at dawn, 0700. Jordan’s eyes are still crusty from sleep when Adam wakes him up with a shove on his shoulders. The rain has stopped, they’ve got dried mud all over their skin and dungarees, and Jordan feels dirty.

Adam and Jordan marches up with the rest of the company, leaving the memories of Ingsy’s death behind – and perhaps, of the unexpected kiss, too. “You can’t dwell on it,” Milly tells them, referring to Ingsy, the hard lines of an experienced Sergeant etched on his lips. “We just have to keep going.” Beside him, Jordan could feel Adam’s shoulders sagging from the weight of his rucksack – and perhaps, the weariness of taking the second watch, and everything else that the war has to offer.

It’s quiet this morning, too quiet for Jordan’s tastes, without Ingsy’s nagging. Adam must have felt it too – the uneasiness of not having Ingsy towering over his right side, as Jordan does on his left, buffering their interactions with each other. It’s moments like these that Jordan thinks about Ingsy’s family – Ingsy’s mum, Ingsy’s last words before he died – and how Adam had never spoken much about his own family.

If Adam were to die—

No.

Wrong thought.

Retreat.

_Retreat._

But it is a mistake, because Jordan could not think of anything else for the rest of the day. Does Adam have a girl back home? He knows Adam has a sister who works in an ammunition factory for the Navy— back in Bournemouth somewhere, and come to think of it, Adam’s mother and sister are the only ladies he has ever mentioned in his letters.

It _is_ a mistake, because Jordan could not stop himself from asking when he should have kept his trap shut, later that evening when they’re comfortably dug in another foxhole that seems too big, too wide, without Ingsy. “If something happens to me, what would you do?”

Adam side-eyes him expressionlessly. He doesn’t reply, which makes Jordan feel like a damned fool, and he could feel the tips of his ears burning. “Nothing’s gonna happen,” Adam says, after a few beats, without looking at Jordan. He picks out a cigarette and places it between his lips, before asking, “Got a lighter?”

“I thought you don’t smoke,” Jordan narrows his eyes, acutely aware that this was how their conversation started yesterday before it escalated into something else entirely.

“I’m smoking _now_. Haven’t got long left to live anyway,” Adam mumbles nonchalantly, as Jordan pauses to light Adam’s smoke. He draws a deep breath and coughs. “Why do you even smoke this thing?” Adam asks with a scrunched nose, causing Jordan to let out a laugh. He’s glad that whatever tension they had from yesterday had dissipated, but he’s still unconvinced by Adam’s reply to his earlier query.

“You’ve said it. You’ve seen it. You can’t tell who’s dying, who’s gonna survive. It could be any of us sooner or later, it’s a matter of time.”

“Like I’ve said,” Adam huffs exasperatedly, “— _nothing’s_ gonna happen to you. Because I’m not gonna let _anything_ happen to you.”

Jordan freezes.

Something in Jordan’s eyes must have alarmed Adam, because he backtracks and says, “If anything it’s me who might end up losing my head saving your arse,” with a careless, sardonic smirk.

 _This isn’t funny,_ Jordan wants to say. _Stop smirking like this isn’t your life we’re talking about._ “Excuse me, but I think I’ve saved your sorry ass more times than I could count.”

“Of course,” Adam chuckles wryly. “You’re bigger, stronger. Of course you’re the one who would be saving me, right?”

A beat, then:

“I wouldn’t mind dying for you, y’know?” Jordan says quietly. Unsure. He doesn’t even realize that he’s said it until the words stumble out of his mouth. Adam continues to study him intently, as if he’s staring at the enemy lines, warily watching, eyes wide. “What would your mum say if she finds out that you died saving someone like me?” he asks.

Jordan shifts slightly in his seat, glaring daggers at Adam. Two can play at this game. “What do you mean, someone like _you_?”

Adam returns Jordan’s sharp gaze with his own, and for the first time Jordan thinks that his eyes look – _sad,_ for the lack of a better word. He shakes his head and shrugs, before asking Jordan, “Do you _really_ want to know?” he lifts an eyebrow, before flicking his cigarette off.

It is probably a mistake, because Jordan thinks he’s spent enough time with this man in eighteen months to know Adam, but clearly he doesn’t. Jordan nods, not knowing what to expect, but when it all boils down to it, he thinks he’s probably better prepared for this than the last time.

Adam’s lips are dry, but soft against his – and he isn’t pushing hard against Jordan like last time. He cups Jordan’s face in his hands again, gentle, as if he’s scared that Jordan will break. Unlike last time, Jordan refuses to be a passive participant. He widens his legs so that Adam could kneel between them, as Jordan rests his back against the muddy wall of the foxhole. It’s dark, and the next foxhole is yards away. There is the sound of their clothes rustling against each other, but if he could keep his voice down, no one will know.

No one _should_ know, or both of them will hang.

Adam swipes his tongue against Jordan’s bottom lip, causing him to moan, teeth clacking against each other. Jordan lifts one hand up to rest at Adam’s nape, feeling the sharp, short hairs there against the pads of his fingers, deepening the kiss.  He tastes like smoke and ash and cheap coffee, Jordan thinks, before the Adam bites at his bottom lip, causing Jordan to yelp.

“What—,” Jordan breaks the kiss and licks at the split lip, tasting blood.

“You’re not supposed to kiss me back,” Adam says, as he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. There is a flash of panic in his eyes. “You— you’re supposed to push me away,” he continues, nostrils flaring. “You’re supposed to be _scared_ of me.”

Jordan only replies by pulling Adam into his lap again, for another searing kiss that knocks the breath out of him, earning a desperate groan from Adam. _I’m not scared of you,_ Jordan wants to say, but he decides to let his actions declare how he feels instead. Between their bodies, Adam’s hand reaches for Jordan’s dungarees, tugging at it to unbuckle his belt. Jordan breaks the kiss for a split second to help Adam, hands frantically moving to get this over and done with as quickly as possible – not out of disgust, but out of fear should anyone find them like this. There is no good way of explaining the situation if they get caught.  

He helps to undo Adam’s dungarees too, bringing both their cocks together in his large, calloused palm. Jordan’s intention is to jack them off together dry, but Adam has other ideas – as if he really wants to show Jordan who he really is. He brings his head down to Jordan’s crotch and takes him into his mouth, tongue swirling around the head as his right hand begins to pump Jordan from the base of his cock.

“Fuck—,” Jordan squirms, but Adam lets go of his cock and slams a hand over Jordan’s mouth, effectively shutting him up. “Do you want to get caught?” Adam whispers hoarsely. Jordan shakes his head, eyes wide as Adam merely blinks at him, and resigns his fate as he shoves his cock into the Adam’s warm, wet, inviting mouth.

He’s not had time to jack himself off in ages – and he certainly never had anyone suck him before, so he almost lets out a whine when he realizes that Adam is way too good at this, as if Adam’s done this before, with other men – and he thinks, _how could I have not known?_

Jordan’s hips stutter as Adam begins to slide his head back and forth, letting his cock out of his mouth for a few seconds to be replaced by Adam’s right hand as he lathers his attention and sucks on the underside of Jordan’s balls, too. Jordan wants to scream – but Adam’s left hand continues to clamp down on Jordan’s mouth, muffling his groans. Jordan doesn’t know what to do with his free hands, so he ends up grabbing aimlessly at Adam’s head, Adam’s shirt, Adam’s _everything_ for purchase, as his hips continue to thrust into Adam’s mouth, out of its own accord.

He has never fucked a girl, let alone a man’s mouth – and he could feel hot tears forming at the corner of his eyes, as he opens his eyes and watches as Adam hums around his cock, his tongue like silk against his skin. Jordan watches, mesmerized by the trickle of Adam saliva mixed with Jordan’s cum as he lets go of Jordan’s cock, only to tongue the slit languidly, lifting his gaze into Jordan’s eyes as Adam swallows Jordan whole, again.

Jordan couldn’t breathe – his lungs are on fire, Adam’s warm hand against his mouth and nearly covering his nose. His vision goes blurry with tears and desire and pleasure, and he might have made a sound because Adam has stopped sucking him, only to reach up to kiss him again. Jordan tastes himself – and saliva and cum and Adam, before moaning into the younger man’s mouth, rutting desperately against Adam’s cock. Finally, _finally_ – Adam manoeuvres Jordan’s hand and wraps it around their cocks, before Jordan finally relents, muscles clenching, thinking he could see stars.

Adam comes not long after, Jordan helping him to his release, as he nuzzles his head against Jordan’s damp neck. They’ve made such a mess with their dungarees and shirt and the foxhole smells of sex and sweat – and in the distance, Jordan could hear footsteps approaching. Adam and Jordan tidy up as much as they could, and Jordan lets out a heavy sigh when he realizes that the footsteps are moving away from them. Even then, he couldn’t help but agonize that the others might have heard them. He’s painfully aware that there is probably Adam’s handprint across his face where he’s had his hand clamped over his mouth too tightly, the unfamiliar, unpleasant feeling of _shame_ pooling deep  within his stomach.

“Told you, you’d regret it,” Adam says dispassionately, as if he could read Jordan’s mind. He doesn’t seem as fazed as Jordan is – _too cool a cucumber_ , Ingsy had said.

“Fuck you,” Jordan says – but he’s not angry at Adam. He’s confused, maybe. If he were angry, maybe he’d be angry at how he hadn’t known this about Adam, but mostly he’d be angry at his own stupidity. He would _never_ be angry at Adam.

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep,” Adam says sternly, his inflection hiding a deeper, darker meaning. Jordan blinks at Adam before the Corporal shakes his head and grumbles something that Jordan can’t quite catch, reaching out for Jordan’s hand and tentatively linking their fingers together.

When Adam is sure that Jordan is alright, he leans forward and brushes a finger over Jordan’s cheekbone – clearing a stain of mud, perhaps, before rewarding him with a soft smile. “I’m going to catch some shut-eye, now,” he says, reminiscent of last night. “Wake me up at 0300,” he tells Jordan as he rests his head on the taller man’s outstretched legs, and closes his eyes.

 

* * *

 

The next few days involves more marching through Meiktila, and less battle action. It’s during the downtime days that Jordan gets worried, because he thinks that everyone could see how affectionate Adam is towards him more than anyone else. He knows how the company thinks that Adam is _rarely_ affectionate – if anything, he’s too distant, too silent, too _violent_ – and that everyone is afraid to get too close to him. Adam’s affections are in the little things, Jordan thinks. How he pats Jordan’s chest when he reinserts the cigarette pack into Jordan’s front pocket, or leans his head briefly into Jordan’s shoulder when they’re marching, or gives his leftover fish and rice to Jordan when he couldn’t finish his chow.

He wants to tell Adam, _they could see us—Milly, Robbo, everyone_ – as his eyes rove frantically, the hairs at the back of his neck rising whenever Adam shows him a little bit of extra kindness and other boots walk past. He should have been used to this, even from long before, when Ingsy is still alive. But now, after what happened last night – the same things all feel _new._

It terrifies Jordan.

It _excites_ him.

Each night they would spare a few urgent, desperate moments of sloppy dry handjobs in their shared foxhole, with Adam clamping over Jordan’s mouth with a firm hand every time, to stop him from whining— because Jordan knows he wouldn’t be able to stop himself from uttering Adam’s name loudly, over and over and over again, like a prayer.

It is Adam who is there beside him when the enemies are firing bullets like a downpour of rain, calm in the presence of danger, focused and unrelenting. Just like this afternoon when Adam has watched his six, covering him as they make the assault on an enemy-held airfield, making sure that Jordan passes through safely.

Adam has suffered a graze from a stray bullet, and had to get his leg bandaged – but Jordan will take it – as long as Adam stays alive, he’ll take it. That night is the first night in ages that they finally get to sleep in a concrete structure, with a roof over their heads – albeit a partially bombed one. Jordan wakes up under the guise of needing a pee – before tiptoeing his way down towards the quiet, darkened area of the building, where he finds Adam already waiting by the first flight of stairs.

He walks towards Adam in purposeful long strides before backing the older man against the wall, kissing him fervently, all open-mouthed and tongues and shuddered breaths, before Adam lets out a soft laugh. “Be careful,” he says, “My leg,” he points at his foot. “It hurts like hell.”

Jordan doesn’t know what Adam is thinking, when, suddenly he pushes Jordan away and walks him backwards, until Jordan falls gracelessly atop the first few steps of the stairs. He holds Jordan’s face steadily and tugs at his dogtags, pulling his head forward before kissing him again and again, before undoing their dungarees. “I’ve got a present for you,” he grins devilishly, making Jordan’s heart flutter nervously – because God help him, Adam rarely smiles let alone grins like that, and Jordan thinks, _I’m in love._

“You promised me something, and I’m making sure you’re fulfilling it,” Adam tells him, his voice gravelly with want, and Jordan remembers. _‘Fuck you,_ ’ Jordan has said. At that time, it felt like a joke. Everything feels like a joke in this place, even the war, even when people keep dying around him like flies – but he doesn’t want this to be one. He wants this to be real, and Adam is real, and this moment – it’s _real._

Adam holds out a bottle of oil that he’s pinched from somewhere, and Jordan doesn’t want to know how or when or what it contains – before Adam dips his fingers in it. Jordan sits there, the only audience to this private show that Adam is giving – as he kneels, reaching backwards and presses his fingers against his entrance, hissing as he inserts one, then two fingers – in, and out, and in again. Jordan’s pulse reaches sky high at the sight, his chest moving up and down rapidly as he watches Adam works himself open – Jordan’s own hard, leaking cock now bobbing against his clothed abdomen as he moves his hand up and down his shaft, matching Adam’s rhythm.

“This will do,” Adam says, before he climbs atop Jordan and lathers his cock with slick. He guides Jordan against his entrance and keens down, concentrating. “Hendo,” he says, his hands on Jordan’s shoulders, pushing down – before he moves them to Jordan’s neck, fingers wrapping around Jordan’s windpipe – but not enough pressure to completely close it down. “Look at me, Hendo,” Adam commands him – and Jordan’s eyes flutter open, wide and trusting and in disbelief – he could barely breathe, it’s so tight, so good, so right – that Adam is stretching his muscles to accommodate Jordan.

“That’s it, Hendo. Good boy,” Adam smiles, before kissing the tip of Jordan’s nose. “Breathe, Hendo. Don’t forget to breathe,” Adam whispers against his ear, as he fully sinks down onto Jordan’s cock. Everything is going into overdrive mode, Jordan couldn’t think. He scratches and claws at Adam’s back, reaching underneath Adam’s shirt to find purchase at Adam’s skin, finding solace in tracing the knobs of Adam’s spine. Jordan couldn’t help but thrust his hip forward, and all façade of Adam being the calm, collected person he’s always known is gone. Adam groans against the corner of his lips, his wide eyes becoming impossibly wider as he begins to move up and down, trying to find a rhythm that suits them both.

“Adam—,” Jordan gasps, “Adam—,” seems the only words that he’s capable of saying, through gritted teeth, aware that their voices could reverberate through the walls, waking everybody else up. He feels so good that he couldn’t stop driving his hips hard into Adam’s, his vision go cross-eyed, sweat sheening on his forehead.

Adam lifts Jordan’s shirt off and throws it haphazardly down the cemented steps, before mouthing at Jordan’s neck with reckless abandon. He bites at the juncture between Jordan’s shoulder and neck, causing Jordan to jolt at the pain. “Fuck,” Jordan gasps, nearly choked-off, before Adam sucks at the area, and presses more kisses on Jordan’s chest, Jordan’s dog tags wrapped around his fist as he sucks on a nipple greedily.

The last few seconds are silent – save for the sounds of them breathing and mouthing against each other’s skin, as Jordan continues to thrust upwards, harder, faster. He doesn’t last long – “I’m coming,” he says, his voice coming out strangled as Adam climbs off him and jerks them off together.

Jordan would have never known that Adam is a biter – with every frantic movement of his hand, he’s marked Jordan’s skin with his teeth before laving the area with his tongue, all the way down his chest. As Jordan comes, Adam pulls Jordan’s head back by his hair, baring the long column of throat and bites there too, before kissing the tip of his chin, the corner of his mouth, capturing his lips in a bruising kiss.

It takes a while for Jordan to recover from his orgasm, and it takes another brief moment before he realizes that Adam has yet to come – he has never appreciated Adam like this before, as Adam works his hand around his cock, his jaw slack from the pleasure, head lolling back as Adam spills into his hand. It is Jordan’s turn to pull him by the dog tags and steadies Adam’s neck, keeping him close against him.

“We need to get going,” Adam mumbles sleepily against Jordan’s chest. “They’re gonna be looking for us,” he tells Jordan, which draws him back to reality.

“I don’t want to go,” Jordan whines. “Not yet.”

“We have to, Hendo,” Adam says sternly.

Jordan wants to say, _‘No, stay here with me. Stay here forever. I want to hold you forever,_ ’ but he knows Adam is right. Reluctantly, he lets go of Adam, who smooths down his shirt and tucks it inside his dungarees, looking every inch a perfect soldier, ready to be called into combat. Adam bends and picks Jordan’s shirt, before throwing it back at him. Adam looks at Jordan oddly, his eyes trailing down Jordan’s body as he pulls the shirt over his head. “I’m going to head back first,” Adam says. “See you at chow?”

There is nothing Jordan could do but nod, as he watches Adam limp away with that damned injured leg.

 

* * *

 

It is Robbo who notices it at breakfast. “What’s that on your neck?”

Jordan immediately plants a hand over the skin area that Robbo has just pointed out; acutely aware that it was where Adam has marked him last night. “Bugs,” Adam replies as he slams his food tray on the table, claiming his seat opposite Jordan at the table. His unexpected, unannounced entrance causes both Robbo and Jordan to jolt with surprise.

Robbo eyes Adam and Jordan suspiciously. “Right,” he says, but he doesn’t elaborate as he continues to munch on his undercooked rice. Jordan inhales sharply as he watches Adam, who is gazing back at him in return, as if placating him silently.

 _He knows,_ Jordan tries to tell Adam. _Robbo knows, and everyone will soon know as well,_ Jordan pleads, but it seems that Adam is uninterested in listening to his silent screams, so Jordan stands up abruptly and storms off, desperate in his search for a mirror. He soon finds one from Studge, who has been using it to shave, but Jordan says, “I need it now, it’s urgent!” despite Studge’s protests. He finds a quiet spot and stares at the blotches of red marks on his skin, reflected on the tiny mirror – there is no way it could pass as bug bites.

They definitely look like human teeth marks, and there is no use denying that it is a fellow soldier who has marked Jordan – and there is no use denying that it has been _Adam._ It isn’t just the bite marks. It’s the scratches all over his skin, from Adam’s nails, by the sides of his torso, on his back.

“If you’re done admiring yourself in the mirror, Hendo, I think we’ve got orders to move out by 0800,” Adam’s voice rises from behind him.

Jordan spins around and nearly wants to shout in anger, “You did this! You knew!” – but he knows it isn’t tactful, not when other soldiers may be lurking around listening to this conversation. “Fuck you,” Jordan spits, instead.

“Indeed,” Adam shrugs, that one simple word laced with so much meaning.

“How are you alright with this?” Jordan hisses, attempting to be civil but couldn’t – not when he is so livid, how could he have been so stupid? “They’re going to know, and we’re going to die—not by enemy bullets but our own!”

“Hendo—,” Adam takes the mirror from Jordan’s grip and replaces it with his own hands, “—I won’t let that happen,” Adam promises ardently. “I’m sorry – I got carried away, I—,” Adam rambles, before Milly clears his throat at the door.

“We’ve got to move out, lads. _Now,_ ” Milly says sternly, as an NCO should – but his eyes are full of concern, and it isn’t the kind of fear that you see before battle, the fear that his men is going to die.

It’s something else, something _unspeakable._

 

* * *

 

Adam doesn’t speak to him for weeks after that – not even after they’ve taken Rangoon. It’s worse, now that they’re not digging foxholes anymore but makes camps out of makeshift tents and bombed buildings, since news about the Hiroshima, Nagasaki, and a possible Japanese surrender spread amongst them.

_Peace._

How the hell would they cope with peace, when it feels like war is all Jordan has ever known?

Adam spends way too much time with Clyney, with Studge, with _Milly_ – of all people, and Jordan couldn’t help but _miss_ Adam.

Sure, Jordan plays around with Robbo, but even the talkative little fucker couldn’t stop blabbering about Adam, saying things like, “Oh, are you having a fight with your husband, now, Hendo?”

Whatever smile that was planted on Jordan’s face only moments earlier is immediately erased. “He’s not my husband,” he stiffens. “I’m not his wife.”

Robbo stares at him incredulously. “Learn to take a joke, Hendo.”

“Sorry,” Jordan scratches the back of his head, ignoring the heat creeping up his cheeks.

“I’ve never seen you eejits not blether with each other this long before. It’s making me tetchy. It’s making Milly tetchy, it’s making the rest of the company tetchy,” Robbo complains. “Listen, I don’t care what you folk do—,” he begins, but Jordan has heard enough. “Stop,” Jordan holds up a hand, but Robbo persists.

“Adam not talking? Fine by me. He never talks anyway, not that much, not with other people. But when he doesn’t talk to you, that worries me,” Robbo says. “And _you._ Corporal Henderson, you’re not the kind of person who would talk and laugh joke with anyone either, but at least you would talk and laugh and joke on Adam’s behalf. But when even _you_ don’t do that anymore, that worries _me._ You argue a lot with each other, and it annoys us to no end, but that’s fine. When you don’t do that anymore, you both worry _everyone._ ”

Jordan could see Robbo’s point – but there is no way he could explain this without implicating Adam. How could he tell Robbo that Adam has taken his virginity, and it had taken Jordan a full week to process this? How could he tell Robbo that he has spent his teenage years thinking that his first time would be with a nice girl, in a nice house, on a nice bed – in _England_ — and not with a man that smells of blood and earth and cigarettes, on the concrete floors of a dilapidated, bombed-out airfield tower in Burma?

How could he tell Robbo that he enjoyed it, that he misses it, that he misses Adam? That whatever he feels for Adam now extends beyond brotherly, that it isn’t just fucking lust clouding his judgment?

But Jordan is a coward and an idiot, so he keeps his silence.

It is Adam who approaches him, later that night, in one of the empty tents. “I’m sorry, Hendo,” Adam says – Jordan doesn’t even realize that Adam has been standing there, watching him as he reads the letter he received this afternoon from Stevie.

Jordan turns around in surprise, the letter that he’s been holding slips between his fingers, page by page, falling upon the floor. “What are you doing here?” he asks, his heart thumping wildly as Adam walks towards him, dog tags clinking against his chest with every step.

“I’m sorry,” Adam repeats softly, as if it’s the only words he could say and he’s stuck until Jordan forgives him.  He kneels in front of Jordan, who is sitting on his cot, before picking up the pages from the letter that Stevie has written to Jordan. He skims the pages briefly before handing them back to Jordan, pursing his lips grimly. Jordan takes the pieces of paper in his hand, fingers brushing against Adam’s – and the touch lingers, despite the initial shock – like electricity coursing through his body, thrumming through his veins. He clutches the letter in his hands, Stevie’s legible words now forgotten. The words that matters now are Adam’s, and Jordan is all ears.

“I wish I know how to put my feelings into words, but I’ve never been the most verbose or articulate. Not verbally, not even in writing,” Adam closes his eyes, and lets out a deep sigh. “I miss—you,” he says. “I miss us—I want—,” Adam begins, unsure how to end the sentence, but Jordan looks into his eyes and he _knows._

“I miss you too,” Jordan confesses almost immediately, and it surprises him how easy it is for him to admit it. The surprise lights up in Adam’s eyes too, in the bright twinkle of his eyes, as he stares up at Jordan in disbelief. “And I’m an idiot. It’s just that— I’ve never wanted anything in my life so badly – until you. And I think I’ve ruined it too, because I’m not good with words either. I’ve always done things quietly, never really cared about what other people think, never really cared about what you think, and I’ve probably hurt you in the process, and I’m so, so sorry.”

He has never been able to utter more than three sentences at a time – not lengthy ones, and he thinks, _I’m doing this because of Adam._

_I miss him._

_I want him._

It is the closest thing to a declaration of love that he would ever be able to say to Adam, and for now, he hopes it’s enough. He hopes he would be able to show Adam how much he wants him instead – so Jordan leaps forward and embraces Adam tightly, before resting his forehead on Adam’s shoulder. He smells of soap and sweat and laundry, and Jordan misses this, misses holding Adam in his arms, and thinks that this is the first time he’s held Adam while both of them are showered and clean, and he will remember this forever.

“I miss you too. I want you, Adam–,” he mumbles into Adam’s neck, “—but I’m scared.”

“I’ll take care of you,” Adam says, as he presses their foreheads and nuzzles their noses together. “I’ll take care of you and I won’t let anyone hurt you. I promise I will never hurt you,” he murmurs against Jordan’s lips – before the gravity of Jordan’s words finally sinks in.

“You want me?” Adam asks in disbelief, pulling his head slightly to look at Jordan, frowning.

Jordan nods enthusiastically. “I want you. Don’t ask why because I can’t comprehend either, but I do. I _need_ you,” Jordan reiterates, before Adam kisses him, kisses the tears at the corner of his eyes, tasting salt on his cheekbones. Adam kisses his forehead, his temple, the underside of his jaw, and slides a hand underneath Jordan’s shirt, lifting it up slightly so he could see Jordan’s skin.

Much of the bite marks have faded, except the one between Jordan ‘s neck and shoulder – and Adam takes his time to suck at the skin, avoiding using his teeth altogether, and kisses each bruise tenderly as if his lips could heal them.

It’s too bright in this tent, anyone could walk in at any time – but something is different tonight. Adam is moving slowly, as if he has all the time in the world, as if he wants to make up for all the frantic, desperate dry jacks they’d shared in the past. Adam captures Jordan’s lips in another kiss, and even this kiss tastes sweeter, languid, lazy – and Adam isn’t trying to get into his pants, and neither does Jordan. It’s just them exploring, learning each other’s tastes after so long, and it’s almost as if Adam actually loves him too.

“And here I was worried that you’d dumped me for a man who writes you love letters,” Adam chuckles softly, and Jordan knows that it isn’t out of sarcasm. “Who?” Jordan asks. “Stevie? You’re jealous of Stevie?”

“I’m not— _jealous!_ ” Adam shrieks, almost too loud to be true, and he’s blushing all the way to his roots. Jordan thinks it’s adorable, if someone like Adam could be called adorable.

“You’re jealous. Of _Stevie,_ ” Jordan teases, a scandalous grin on his lips. “Stevie’s not—like _us._ He’s got a bird back home, a’ight? In fact he just wrote that he’s getting married soon.”

“Would you fall for someone who writes you love letters?” Adam asks.

“I’d fall for someone who’s honest with me,” Jordan replies, “—even if he doesn’t say much at all,” he continues, before his mind has the time to fully process Adam’s question.

 _Like you,_ Jordan wants to add, but he doesn’t. Instead, he pulls Adam up to sit next to him on the cot, before lying next to each other in the confined space. With Adam’s back against his chest, he could smell Adam’s hair, fresh from shower.

In his arms, Adam falls silent.

“Can I ask you a question? Please don’t get mad at me,” Jordan asks.

“What is it?”

Jordan struggles to find the words, despite his burgeoning curiosity. He probably hasn’t timed this right, but if they’re talking now, this time is as good as any. “How did you— why—,” he stutters, before sighing and tries again, “—how did you end up—,” he stumbles, before he feels Adam’s entire body quaking in his arms, as if he’s sobbing. It takes Jordan a full second to register that Adam is actually laughing.

Adam turns over to face Jordan, an amused smile on his face. “I know you’d ask me that eventually,” he says, before the smile falters into a grave expression. “I’m going to warn you – the story isn’t the most palatable.”

“I’ve been through enough shit in this war,” Jordan rubs his thumb against Adam’s knuckles, as a soothing gesture. “There’s little else that I couldn’t tolerate.”

“It was them Navy lads,” Adam explains, not quite looking into Jordan’s eyes. He draws a sharp breath, before exhaling slowly, resting an arm around Jordan’s waist as he leans closer into Jordan’s chest. “In Bournemouth,” Adam mumbles – as if in shame. “My family doesn’t know what they did, or how much they’ve paid me– but we were poor, and our family needed the money, so—,” he hesitates, “I –did what I had to do.”

The realization of what Adam had actually been through – and why Adam has become the person he is today – hits Jordan like a ton of bricks. “Adam—,” Jordan says, alarmed, before holding Adam tighter in his arms, but the shake of Adam’s head stops him.

“You don’t need to hear my sob story, Hendo,” Adam sighs. “This was a long time ago. Long before I joined the army. I was young and I had to do something to survive,” he says. “So I did.”

“You’ve been with a lot of men,” Jordan mumbles to no one in particular, which earns a wry chuckle from Adam. “Too many to count,” Adam replies. “Does that bother you?”

“No—,” Jordan says, because it’s the truth. “I’m just—intrigued. All this time, Adam. And I never knew,” he says, before running a finger up and down Adam’s spine, tracing lazy circles on his back, before kissing his brow gently. “Have you been with girls?” Jordan asks.

“Not interested,” Adam retorts. Short and sweet.

“How about this company? Everyone else?” Jordan asks, shifting his weight so he could look down at Adam’s face. There is no way that Adam has spent all this time with all these men and not get tempted to be with them, when there are so many others whom Jordan feels more worthy of Adam’s affections. “How about Ox, Milly— all the rest of them?”

Adam blinks slowly, before looking away – and his lips curve into a gentle smile that is enough to drive Jordan mad – because in this light, Adam looks so serene, away from the bullets, away from the mortar fire, away from the dangers that threaten to remove Adam from him. “They’re all attractive, _fit,_ in their own ways,” Adam explains, before running his fingers in Jordan’s hair.  “But they’re _not_ you. Only you and Ingsy are crazy enough to share a foxhole with me, and Ingsy was like the brother I never had, so—,” Adam trails off, before Jordan silences him with another soft kiss.

_Ingsy._

If Ingsy is still alive, would Jordan be here with Adam?

If Ingsy is still alive, would he approve of this?

Jordan almost falls asleep like that, as uncomfortable as having two men sharing one tiny cot is, until he hears a shuffle and footsteps, and voices outside the tent. Adam is the first one to sit upright, by the side of the cot, when the flap of the tent is pushed back, and Milly enters.

If he’d seen them, he doesn’t say anything.

“It’s official,” Milly informs them. “The Japanese have surrendered. The war is over, gentlemen. We’re going home.”

 

* * *

 

It turns out that despite the announcement of Japanese surrender that August, it wouldn’t be officially signed until September, and they’re definitely not any closer to going home as previously thought. All that meant was that there will be cessation of armed forces activities, and the Fourteenth Army would be sent to Malaya, instead.

Adam and Jordan are stationed in Ceylon, in a too-warm army barracks with nothing to do but drills and PT and more drills, until their next orders arrive. Between the drills and hot chow and proper shower and PT, there is little to do. They’re alive, but bored as hell. Other folk goes on leave and finds girls to court, but Adam and Jordan only have eyes for each other.

They shine their boots, run the perimeter of the camp with stones and bricks in their rucksacks, and sleep in their tiny cots, in the sweltering heat of August. The seasons are changing, the air is cooler and slightly bearable, now, without Jordan having the urge to strip naked every second. When his hair gets longer Adam would trim it for him, and vice versa. When the hints of facial fuzz start to form on Adam’s jaw, Jordan would help him shave. It’s probably nothing – even when Ingsy was still alive they’ve always helped each other, but it’s only because they’re _constantly_ in camp and are _constantly_ inseparable that people really start to notice.

It should have been alright if it’s just members of their company, but there are others, boots included, who are seeing Jordan and Adam for the first time and thinks that they are too intimate with each other. They should have been used to this, even among their company members, when they first realize that Jordan and Adam have finally decided to talk to each other again – and they’d teased them with things like, “the old married couple is back together again,” or “Adz and Hendo have kissed and made up.”

Usually Adam would think of them as harmless, but Jordan has become less forgiving. Jordan is the one who would end up staring daggers at anyone who dares to call them out, which usually stuns those people into silence, perhaps because of his own ruthless reputation. But he would never resort to physical violence.

On that particularly warm day in the second week of August, things are about to change.

“Does his cock taste like lollipop, fairy?”

It’s one of the blokes from B-Company. Adam has probably heard them howling from behind, trying to stifle a rancorous laughter, but he ignores them. Jordan, however, has heard enough. He stops in his tracks and turns to face the perpetrator, with a sly smile on his face. “What did you just say?” he asks, voice dripping with acid and honey.

“I wasn’t talking to you,” the man spits. “Talking to that fellow over there,” he says, pointing rudely at Adam, “—scuttlebutt says that his mouth is amazing at sucking cock. Have you tried it?”

“You can suck _mine_ ,” Jordan says, and rolling his sleeves up-- before punching the man’s smug face and knocking him out with a single blow.

 

* * *

 

Milly visits Jordan inside their tent at lunchtime, assessing the damage that the other B-Company men have inflicted on Jordan as soon as he assaulted their ringleader. “I know you care about each other,” he begins, “—and I really don’t care what you do behind closed doors. But you’ve got to be careful what you do outside the doors, because I won’t be able to protect you then,” Milly says. He taps on Adam’s shoulder as Jordan looks up at Milly with a blackened eye and a split lip, courtesy of the B-Company brawlers. “Just—tone it down a bit. It’s probably alright when it’s with us, but it’s a whole different world out there. You understand, right?” he asks, this time directing the question at Adam – who merely responds by clenching his jaw.

Jordan only manages a nod, although he is itching to say, “You think I don’t know that?”

Instead he says, “Yes, Milly,” before the Sergeant leaves their tent. The entire time Adam has been silent, but Jordan knows him well enough to realize that Adam has been gritting his teeth to stop exploding into expletives.

“It’s my fault,” Adam sighs. “I pulled you into this.”

Jordan shakes his head in resentment. “What if they’d called me the fairy instead, Adam?” he asks, causing Adam to snap his head and glances sharply at Jordan.  “That question isn’t valid,” he ripostes abruptly.

“Would you have taken it all in or would you have punched him in the face?” Jordan asks, insistent.

“It’s unfair,” Adam replies exasperatedly. “It’s unfair on you to take all of that in, because you’re _not_ a fairy.”

“Adam— I know that this is the worst time to ask you this – but I’m in this together – with you, too,” Jordan begins. “I want you. I need you. I want to be with you, I want to share everything I could with you,” he says, before reaching out for Adam’s pants, attempting to undo his belt with expert hands, a movement so familiar to him that he doesn’t even need to watch what he’s doing.

“What are you doing?” Adam asks, holding up a hand at Jordan’s shoulder.

“Let me do the things you did to me,” Jordan begs. “I want to taste you. I want your cock.”

Adam pales at that bold statement— his hand moving swiftly over Jordan’s to stop him, gripping Jordan’s wrists tightly between his fingers. “Jordan, you don’t know what you want.”

“I’ve come this far,” Jordan insists stubbornly. “I know what I want.”

“You’re not a—,” he sighs, “ _—cocksucker,_ Hendo,” Adam says, trying to make it sound as crude as possible, as if that would deter Jordan from taking this further. “I don’t think your mum would appreciate finding out that her son is a—,” Adam starts, but Jordan cuts him off mid-sentence.

“I don’t see how my mum comes into the equation— please, Adam, you’re not protecting anyone,” Jordan clutches Adam’s hands and brings them to his lips, kissing his knuckles in desperation. “It’s me you’re talking about. I want to do it. I’m already in _this_ deep.”

“When you get back home—,” Adam attempts to reason with him, but Jordan has already made up his mind. He wishes that Adam would respect that. He wishes that Adam would stop resisting, stop worrying.

“Let’s not talk about that. Not yet— let’s talk about _now._ Right now, I _want_ to suck your cock. I want you to _fuck_ me,” Jordan says, his cheeks burning as he says his wishes out loud. “With your fingers. Your tongue. Your cock inside me.”

Adam’s eyes widen. “Hendo—,”

“ _Please,_ Adam.”

“When you get back home, your mum will want you to marry a nice girl, have kids, a nice family—they wouldn’t want you to be _with_ a sodomite like me. They wouldn’t want you to _be_ a sodomite like me.”

Jordan couldn’t contain his bubbling irritation any longer. He remembers his Bible, tucked away in his footlocker, at the end of his cot, long forgotten since VJ day. He remembers that night in the pouring rain, when they’d lost Ingsy, and it was Adam who has kissed him first in that wretched foxhole, and Jordan has let him.

“Well, perhaps you should have considered that when you kissed me in that foxhole, shouldn’t you?” he bursts in anger.

His reply stuns Adam into stony silence.

“I love my mum,” Jordan says, when Adam fails to give any convincing reply. “I love my family. But this is my life. My prerogative. And all the shit I’ve been through has led me to you. And I want you. The question is, do you want me too?”

“More than anything.”

“You have me. Right here, right now, you have me,” Jordan reassures Adam. “I want to be with you. We’ll make it work.”

When Adam finally relents, Jordan sets off to work, acutely aware that Adam is studying every tiny move. He undresses first, stark naked in the middle of the tent, in the middle of the day – almost sure that Milly would never let anyone in, not after his speech about what Jordan and Adam does behind closed doors. Then, Adam takes his dungarees off, and pulls off his shirt.

It is only then that Jordan realizes how they’ve never really done this properly before. That they’ve never really been naked in front of each other; never had the privilege or the time.

Jordan kneels in front of Adam and tentatively licks at the slit, before enclosing his mouth around Adam’s cock. This is all new to him, and he should have felt strange doing it – awkward and bumbling, like the oversized child he thinks he is, but somehow this feels natural. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, before moving his head downwards, finding the taste strange and bitter, but he thinks that he could get used to this. He tongues the vein on the underside of Adam’s cock, slowly, taking his time – and Adam, ever the martyr, doesn’t punish him for being inexperienced, for being _flawed._ “Hendo, look at me,” he says, as he tips Jordan’s chin with his fingers, cupping his jaw in the palm of his hand. “Don’t forget to _breathe._ ”

His nostrils flare as he swallows Adam down again, but Jordan, being the overeager achiever that he is, may have jerked forward too quickly when Adam’s cock hits the back of his throat, switching on his gag reflex. Jordan’s coughs and Adam pulls him back gently, just before Jordan could choke, as Adam rests his hand at the back of Jordan’s neck, steadying him.

“Don’t rush, Hendo. Here,” Adam thrusts his hips gently, to familiarise Jordan with the rhythm – not too slow, not too fast, either. “You’re doing great, Hendo. You’re beautiful, and you’re a good boy for me,” Adam shushes him.

Jordan doesn’t make the mistake of trying to deep-throat Adam anymore, but he thinks he’s getting the hang of this, and the praises that Adam is giving him only makes Jordan want to do more, wants to please him forever and ever. Adam clutches his fingers at the back of Jordan’s head, tangling with the short hairs, but he doesn’t force Jordan to go any faster or harder. “You’re too good, so good for me, Hendo,” Adam whispers hoarsely, before finally pulling Jordan up and away from his cock, kissing him passionately as if he’s a dying man in need of air.

“Why’d you pull me away?” Jordan asks. “Am I doing it wrong?”

Adam nearly chokes on laughter. “No, Hendo – you’re too good and it’s been too long— I think I might come straight away, but I don’t want to do that just yet. I’ll make you feel good too. You asked for it, so I’m keeping my side of the bargain.”

He pulls the same jar of oil that he’d used so many nights ago, when Jordan fucked Adam for the first time. “On your hands and knees, Hendo. It’ll be easier for you that way.”

Jordan frowns before Adam gives him a warm smile, and what else could he do but oblige when Adam smiles like that? He hisses when Adam rubs an oiled finger against his entrance, while Jordan’s hand is busy stroking his own cock, his pulse fluttering in anticipation. It doesn’t hurt when Adam inserts the first finger – it feels strange, perhaps, but Adam is gentle and it surprises him how well he adjusts, his toes curling when Adam adds the second and third finger, moving in and out, working him open and ready for Adam’s cock.

“You alright, Jordan?” Adam asks, before he kisses each knob of Jordan’s spine, moving upwards until he reaches Jordan’s nape, while his fingers curl inside Jordan, making him whimper when Adam hits the smooth spot inside, and Jordan whines into the pillow. “What was that?”

“Ah,” Adam replies, but he doesn’t elaborate. Instead, he keeps rubbing at the same spot while Jordan grabs at the sides of his cot, wanting to cry out of pain, out of pleasure, out of a thousand of indescribable emotions, while Adam reaches in front of him and strokes his cock with the same rhythm at which he is fucking Jordan with his fingers.

“Shh, Hendo. You’re alright. You’re alright,” Adam bites at Jordan’s ear, before pulling the taller man upright, turning his face so that Adam could kiss him. Jordan is a mess – and he never knew he would cry during sex, or it would feel this good, and Adam hasn’t even fucked him properly yet – he’s already breathless and sobbing from Adam’s three fingers. “Fuck me, Adam. _Please._ I need you. I need you inside me now.”

“Relax, Hendo. This might hurt a bit, okay? Tell me to stop and I’ll stop.”

Adam positions himself and pushes in slowly, as he reaches forward for Jordan’s hand and intertwines their fingers together. Jordan feels as if his whole body is on fire – Adam is bigger than he expected, and he could feel himself stretching to accommodate Adam. He bites into a knuckle as Adam pushes in further, before pulling back a fraction to let him relax. “You’re okay, Hendo. You’re alright,” Adam tells Jordan, before entering him fully with one sharp thrust.

Jordan draws a sharp breath and holds it in – before remembering to breathe, just as Adam always tells him to. “ _Fuck,_ Adam. Please, fuck me.”

Adam moves slowly, before increasing his pace, and Jordan finds himself wanting more and more once he gets over the pain; he gets greedier and greedier with every thrust, the sound of skin slapping skin reverberates through the room. Adam pulls out fully before turning them over, “I want to see you,” he says, before thrusting into Jordan again, kissing him over and over as their hips meet. He tastes honey and milk on Adam’s lips, sweet and delectable – a sharp contrast from the cigarettes and coffee from what feels like eons ago – but it’s still the same man, and underneath the layers of flavours, it is still quintessentially Adam.

When Jordan comes, he could only see white – his body rocking against Adam’s as he does so, before Adam pulls out of him and spills all over his chest, his stomach, his cock. Jordan is sore, but he feels blissful. Languidly, he wipes a speckle of Adam’s come on his skin and licks it off his fingers, tasting the bitter-salty taste on his tongue, a contented smile on his face.

 

* * *

 

“Adam?”

“Hmm?” Adam replies, half-awake as he rests his head against Jordan’s firm chest, tracing the engraved name on Jordan’s dog tags with his fingertips.

“We’ve never cuddled before. You always make excuses to leave,” Jordan says, before pressing a kiss on the crown of Adam’s head.  

“I never cuddle,” Adam says with a smile, “—but with you, I could make an exception. I would make a thousand exceptions.”

Jordan traces random patterns onto Adam’s skin, at Adam’s waist. He doesn’t know why, but the memories of his conversations with other people about Adam comes crashing back, as if now is the most perfect time to discuss them, of people’s opinions about them. “Do you know that Robbo once said that you’re like—my husband? Does that mean that I’m—,” Jordan hesitates, “—the _wife?_ ”

Adam lets out an earnest laughter, before commenting, “I don’t see how gender roles have anything to do with this— _at all.”_ He shifts his weight and sits up, now fully awake, to look down at Jordan where he lies on the cot.

“Let’s just entertain this idea for a second,” Jordan hypothesizes eagerly. “Do you think I’d make a good wife?”

“You’d be an amazing spouse,” Adam agrees. “I know I would make a crap husband,” he frowns.

Jordan purses his lips thoughtfully. “I can’t cook.”

“I’ll teach you,” Adam smiles. “My mum’s a really good cook. I can make you peach tarts.”

“My mum’s a good cook too,” Jordan begins, before an idea pings in his brain like a lightbulb. “Hey, Adam,” he nudges the older man excitedly. “Have you thought about what you want to do after this?”

“Get some chow,” Adam lists blankly. “Shower. Sleep.”

Jordan rolls his eyes. “No, I mean, _after_ after.”

“Find a job, I suppose,” Adam replies thoughtfully. “Why?”

“Come work for my mum,” Jordan offers. “We have a—family business.”

“The café,” Adam recounts. “You told me, when we first met.”

Jordan is touched that Adam remembers – but then again, perhaps he’s never been able to shut up about his mum and dad and sister, and he wonders if they will be thrilled to have Adam around. Jordan has always talked about Ingsy and Adam in his letters addressed to home, and he thinks, they will love him. They will love him like their own son, like their son-in-law— they will accept Adam, despite his flaws and imperfections.

Just as Jordan has learnt to love Adam, _especially_ because of his flaws and imperfections.

“Come work for us. Bake some peach tarts. It’ll be a hit in Sunderland, I’m telling you. I’m sure you’re—overqualified, and I’ll be sure to put in a good word for you, and—,” Jordan says incessantly, before Adam starts to laugh again.

“Hendo—,” Adam says, before leaning to kiss his nose, and silences him with a kiss. “Hendo, I’ll think about it.”

“Really?”

“Hmm-hmm,” Adam nods.

 _I love him,_ Jordan thinks. _I love him._

_I love you, Adam._

“And Jordan?” Adam asks, mumbling incoherently into Jordan’s skin.

“Hmm?”

There is a slight pause before Adam says, “I love you.”

It takes a while for Jordan to compute those three words. He would never have placed a bet that Adam would say them first. He would never have thought that Adam would say them at all.

But he did.

_He loves me._

_Adam loves me._

“I love you too,” Jordan says, because it’s the truth.

 

* * *

 

Outside their tent, the rain begins to fall.

 

* * *

_fin_

**Author's Note:**

> The fic is set in the Pacific Theatre of World War Two, and the Fourteenth Army was part of the British forces in Burma during 1944-1945 fighting the Japanese. As booperesque pointed out, some themes were lifted from Band of Brothers, a.k.a the best war miniseries ever. Comments are appreciated!


End file.
